


to warm the body (and the heart will follow)

by erudipitous



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: (sharing a floor more like), Asexual Character, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, I do see him as more touch-repulsed than this but oh well, M/M, Sharing a Bed, and probably a-spec? maybe reciprosexual?, asexual vetinari, drumknott is gay, very inspired by DictionaryWrites
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 08:44:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18517972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erudipitous/pseuds/erudipitous
Summary: The Patrician and his secretary are whisked away in the middle of the night by a strange magical phenomenon. Stuck in an alternate dimension, Vetinari and Drumknott are forced to loosen the bounds of propriety ever so slightly, and discoveries follow.





	to warm the body (and the heart will follow)

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to explore the dynamic between Vetinari and Drumknott out of the context of their everyday lives, which... eventually led me to come up with a lot of weird Discworld physics. I'm not completely satisfied with this - Vetinari still seems a bit OOC to me, and I see him as too touch-repulsed for cuddling - but oh well. I eventually intend to write some scenes leading up to this, to start building up their closeness more gradually, but I figured I might as well post this now. Thanks to [Wanderbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wanderbird/pseuds/Wanderbird) for editing!  
> Also, for the dates, I used the [University Calendar](http://wiki.lspace.org/mediawiki/Discworld_Timeline) year system, since it's easier to keep track of and made more sense for Ponder to use.

 

> _In the infinitely vast multiverse, countless realities drift and orbit around each other in incomprehensible dimensions. Perhaps once in a thousand years, barely the blink of an eye in the timespans of most universes, a reality might happen to brush up against another. Where these edges touch, things become… strange. As the 1990 incident demonstrates, when the realities in question are so similar at the point of contact as to be nearly identical, any dissimilarity may result in particularly odd phenomena. In that case, the pressure caused by this concentrated dissimilarity prompted the incident reality to take it upon itself to resolve the dissimilarity. It created a vesicle in which to contain the dissimilarity and, eventually, to dissolve the issue. The exact nature of the dissimilarity in that particular case is not known, but it is theorized to pertain to the nature of the relationship between the then-Patrician of Ankh-Morpork and his personal secretary. To such petty details do the laws of nature apply themselves._

\- "The incident of 1990 UC: a case study." On the Relational Dynamics Between Realities: A Modern Theory, by Ponder Stibbons, 2002 UC.

***

A chill wind swept through the halls of the Unseen University. The slight stirring of dust and papers might have gone unnoticed, had it not passed through the fervid clutter of the High Energy Magic Building. Even the most obsessive of students and wizards had fallen asleep by now, with sunrise but a faint hope on the horizon, but the buzzes and squeaks of Hex the thinking machine never ceased.

As the wind passed the sprawling mess of gears and glass tubes, things started to spin inside Hex. Little trapdoors opened in the ant farms. At the back of the room a huge waterwheel covered with sheep skulls began to turn, ponderously. A quill pen in its network of springs and guiding arms started to write.

Ponder Stibbons, snoring quietly on the floor next to an aquarium on a spring and a fluffy teddy bear, jolted awake at the sound of the scratching quill. He stumbled to his feet and peered at the paper.

"Oh, bugger," he said.

***

Meanwhile, the wind continued outside the University, brushing over cobblestones and dirt and unidentifiable muck, eventually winding its way through the corridors of the Palace. It slipped under doors to the Patrician's office, where Lord Vetinari was reading reports by candlelight, and to the small spartan room of his clerk, where Drumknott lay sleeping. By the time the wind had passed, the Patrician's office and his clerk's bedroom were both empty.

***

Drumknott was suddenly very cold. He was also standing up. This surprising state of affairs was made no less surprising when he blinked the sleep out of his eyes and looked around.

There was someone in front of him.

Cheeks burning in embarrassment, Drumknott looked away, studiously examining his surroundings instead. He was in a tiny, square - room? cell? There were no visible entrances or exits, and the walls were made of no substance that he could identify, almost shimmering. The floor and ceiling were of the same stuff. It was more like being on the inside of a box than a room, given the utter lack of doors, windows, cracks, or indeed any variation whatsoever from the smooth shimmering substance that made up the place. There was no visible light source, but the room was moderately well-lit.

Eventually, the other person spoke. "We appear to have been transported by occult means to some unknown location," Lord Vetinari remarked, as though it were nothing more remarkable than the weather.

Drumknott paused for only a fraction of a second before replying. "Indeed, my lord."

He was shivering, clad only in his austere night gown. The room, while not literally freezing, was nevertheless far colder than even the most severe ascetic could find comfortable. Vetinari seemed to be diplomatically ignoring Drumknott's embarrassingly improper sartorial situation, for which he was grateful.

Vetinari turned away and began investigating the walls of their cell, feeling for edges, levers or other potential escape routes.

"I suspect this is the result of some accident or freak of nature, rather than deliberate conspiracy," the Patrician commented as he worked. Drumknott gave the barest hint of a frown. That meant Vetinari hadn't expected this to happen, hadn't planned its resolution.

"I do hope the wizards take note, sir."

"As do I." Icy blue eyes bored into him. Drumknott felt excruciatingly exposed, though his face revealed nothing.

After a few minutes, Vetinari had completed his examination of the room. "What is the time, Drumknott?" he asked.

Even after all these years, Drumknott never knew if Vetinari was testing him. "Twenty-two minutes past three o'clock, my lord," he answered smoothly, despite having neither seen a clock nor the sky since he had first gone to sleep four hours previously.

"Then I believe I should sleep," Vetinari said. "Should you find yourself capable, you should endeavor to do so as well.”

There were many who thought the Patrician never slept. Drumknott sometimes thought they weren’t far from the truth – Vetinari typically slept two to three hours a night, and could go without sleep entirely on occasion if necessary.

Drumknott winced at the thought of his lordship sleeping on the hard floor. Though Vetinari never showed it, he knew his age and injuries took their toll. But it would be pointless to stay up all night when there was nothing they could do.

Drumknott shivered as he lay down on the floor next to his master, the space too cramped for them to be more than a couple of feet apart. He doubted he would be able to get back to sleep, but he would try. There was nothing to do but wait.

***

Rufus Drumknott was surprisingly warm. He pondered this, mind kicking into gear as he swam back to consciousness.

His eyes flicked open. He was still in the magical cell - not surprising. It was currently six eleven, and he frowned – he had overslept by a minute. He glanced down at the warm weight on his chest and froze. Was that - ?

Lord Vetinari shifted in his sleep, burying his sharp nose into Drumknott's chest.

Drumknott remained immobile, only his flickering eyelids betraying the rapid waves of emotion - shock, then mortification, then practical acceptance. Of course, it was the most expedient solution. They were trapped here, it was cold, and sharing body heat was a wise decision, given how unfortunate it would be if one of them fell ill.

If he were anyone else, he would expect to be dead the moment the Patrician woke.

 

He wondered how they had ended up this way. While Drumknott was somewhat prone to moving in his sleep, he would be shocked if Vetinari was, which meant either the Patrician had consciously positioned himself like this (unlikely - he would have asked permission first), or Drumknott had moved closer in his sleep without waking Vetinari. Vetinari, who slept more lightly than a cat.

Either Vetinari had woken and decided to remain in that position (again, unlikely), or he unconsciously trusted Drumknott to such an extent that he wouldn’t stir at his touch.

The warmth he felt was purely physical, of course. He was certainly not enjoying this state of affairs. That would be terribly improper.

 

His eyes softened. Vetinari looked so fragile in his sleep. That thin, bony figure was possessed by such intensity and control when awake, this was like looking at a discarded marionette and realizing it was not but sticks and string. It was unsettling, and provoked an entirely unsuitable protective instinct.

It was amazing how such a bony man fit so comfortably against his body. He really should wake Vetinari. But it was so cold outside their little bundle of meager clothing and shared warmth. And there was nothing to do here, anyways. No point in waking him, for he would surely want to move a respectable distance apart, and then they would both be cold.

 

The body tucked against him tensed slightly.

"Are you awake, my lord?" Drumknott breathed, not wanting to wake him if he was wrong, although that was probably an exercise in futility.

The head turned on its side. "Ah." There was a pause. "I believe so, yes."

Neither of them moved.

"This is well beyond your duty, Drumknott," Vetinari said eventually. "If you are uncomfortable, please do let me know."

Drumknott's lips twitched. "No, sir." He couldn't see his master's face, but he knew Vetinari's eyebrows had raised.

"I'd rather not move, if it's all the same to you," he admitted. "It's still very cold."

As an answer, Vetinari shifted even closer, wrapping a leg over Drumknott's. He hesitated, then moved his hand gently through Vetinari's hair.

 

"This is - nice," the Patrician mused after a few minutes. His eyes were closed, his angular face tucked under Drumknott's chin.

"It is."

"You know, I never had any interest in the, ah, carnal pleasures," he said, drumming his fingers lightly against Drumknott's chest. "So messy."

"I've always assumed you to be asexual, my lord," Drumknott said drowsily.

Vetinari's brows furrowed. Drumknott saw the hint of a smile. "Ah. There's a word for it, then."

"Yes. There are others, sir."

He drummed his fingers again. "You surprise me, Drumknott. That is not a subject I would have anticipated your expertise in."

"Well - as one might expect, those with unordinary sexual preferences tend to form something of a community. I used to be somewhat involved in the community, enough to know the terminology." Drumknott hesitated, a slight blush painting his cheeks. Ah well. In for a penny, in for a pound. "I prefer men, myself, not that I have the time or interest to bother these days."

"Ah." The hand stilled. "Oh dear. Drumknott, I do hope I haven't been seducing you."

He let out a puff of air, the ghost of a laugh. "No, my lord. I did wonder if that was the case at first, but you're really not the type," he said. Part of him was astonished to hear that admission, shocked at his boldness, but that part was silenced by the rest of him which knew, now, that there was nothing worth hiding anymore. "Not that I would be opposed, you understand -" that was an understatement - "but I only want from you what you want to give. And this is - more than enough."

He stroked Vetinari's hair, smiling softly. He was surprised to find that he meant every word he said.

"Well," Vetinari said thoughtfully, "I am quite amenable to a greater degree of physical affection than we had previously expressed.” Drumknott couldn't help the swell of happiness in his chest. "Not in public, of course, we must maintain a certain image. But I do find myself wanting for physical contact, on occasion. And -" he paused, his gaze softening, "it is nice to express my affection."

Drumknott felt like his heart would burst out of his chest. He wanted to bask in this contentment forever.

***

In the High Energy Magic Building, Ponder Stibbons and his collection of earnest young students were feverishly working. Gears spun, quills scratched, ants streamed through glass tubes. At six twenty-seven, an urgent clacks message was sent to both the Palace and the Watch House. At six forty-three, Commander Vimes flung open the door to the High Energy Magic Building, closely followed by Archchancellor Ridcully. At seven o'clock, Vimes stormed back to the Watch House.

"Bloody wizards," he muttered to himself. The Patrician and his clerk had gone missing without a trace, and apparently magic was the cause. The wizards should have been able to fix it. To Vimes' mind, the entire point of the wizards was to keep magic from getting in the way of other people's lives. If they couldn't do that, what were they good for?

His feet took him back to Pseudopolis Yard of their own accord while his mind worked. Ponder Stibbons, that obsessive bespectacled fellow, had given him some convoluted technical explanation for the occurrence, something about "narrativium" and "inter-reality magnetism" and lots of quantum, and Vimes was fairly certain that Ponder Stibbons had no more idea what was going on than Vimes did, only in more technical language.

Eventually, Vimes had interrupted Ponder's confused attempts at explanations. "Look, I don't care why this happened. Can you bring them back?"

Ponder had bitten his lip, then, and made an expression Vimes didn't like. "I'm - I'm fairly certain that as soon as we can figure out the relational coordinates and -"

Vimes had glared at him. "I think so," he had replied, deflated. "Give me five hours."

Vimes reached Pseudopolis Yard and summoned every officer on the roster. "Alright. The Patrician and his clerk are missing, and it's because of magic. The wizards are working on it. We have five hours to keep the city from rioting. After five hours, either they've managed to fix it or we're all buggered anyways."

***

At eight thirteen, there was a ripple in the wall opposite them. In an instant, Vetinari was on his feet, Drumknott only a second behind him, the two of them instantly taking back up their respective roles, erasing any hint of impropriety.

There was an odd ringing sound, and perhaps ten seconds later, they were presented with the rather unpleasant sight of an enormous nose. The nose retreated, and the rest of the face came into view. A magnified image of Ponder Stibbons peered worriedly at them.

"Ah! There you are, my lord!" His already reedy voice sounded distorted, as though travelling underwater. "Progress, lads, we've found them!" he shouted to someone else, turning his head away from them. He looked back at them worriedly. "Please don't touch the image, my lord, it'll disrupt our connection."

Vetinari's eyebrow raised slightly. "I take it this is not an exit, then."

Ponder winced. "Not really, no. It's a projection - do you remember the moving pictures incident from -"

"Yes."

"Right, right, of course. Think of it like that, a way to project visual information, although there's no light box of course, or rather, the light box doesn't exist in your dimension, it's more a metaphorical light box if you will -"

Vetinari held up an index finger, and Ponder's babble ceased. "So this is a communication tool, not a pathway. That explanation will suffice. Was this incident a deliberate act?"

Stibbons shook his head. "It doesn't seem so, sir - I mean, anything is possible, but as far as we can tell it was due to an overwhelming magnetic pull on the fabric of space-time caused by inter-universal dissimilarity, something about restoring relational equilibrium through narrativium - well, to be honest, we don't really know, but Hex seems to think - I mean, the results Hex generates seem to indicate that it's something quantum."

Vetinari's eyebrow twitched. "Ah. Now, I assume you are working to create such a pathway?"

Stibbons fidgeted. "Yes, my lord. We've found you, which was the first step - you're in some sort of bizarre pocket dimension that - " One look at Vetinari’s expression, and he stopped that line of explanation. "In - in any case, we're working with Hex to solve it, and at least now we know that creating a portal is definitely possible, but it's going to be tricky to set one up that's safe for living beings to go through, and it might take a few hours."

Vetinari's lips formed a razor-thin smile. "How soon might you be able to send non-living things? Paperwork and suchlike."

Ponder looked surprised. "Oh - well, depending on - various things, we might be able to send small objects back and forth in about an hour."

"Drumknott and I should like to make use of our time, Stibbons," Vetinari said evenly. "How many of these projections can you set up safely?"

"Only the one, my lord. And we can't keep it active for very long at a time, the dimensional fabric can't take the strain."

The ghost of a smile touched his lips, and then it was gone. "Very well," he said. His gaze met Ponder's, who swallowed. "Send a clacks to the Palace," he ordered smoothly. "Direct it to Mr. Clevstein, and inform him that he is to fill in for Drumknott with regards to those duties which require a physical presence. He is to cancel all meetings for the day. Once you have worked out how to send non-living objects, request that Mr. Clevstein send Mr. Skinner to you with the morning's reports. Mr. Skinner is to function as a liaison between myself and the Palace. I do not require updates as to the minutiae of your thaumic discoveries, but I should like to know once you have a more definite time estimate as to our return. Is it safer to communicate in this fashion, or by sending physical notes, once that is an option?"

"Um - notes, I think, would be better," the wizard replied, scribbling furiously on a spare scrap of paper.

"I see. I trust Commander Vimes is appraised of the situation?"

Ponder winced and rubbed an ear. "Yes, sir, he was very vocal about the issue."

"I see. Very well then. I should like to exchange words with Mr. Skinner when he arrives. Until then, I trust you are working on a solution to this unfortunate situation."

Stibbons nodded weakly.

"Don't let me detain you."

***

In the end, it was a little over an hour before the first stack of papers appeared on the floor. In the meantime, Vetinari and Drumknott resumed their position on the floor, taking comfort in their closeness. Drumknott sorted through the files in his mind. He could not have surmised how Vetinari occupied his time, but he seemed lost in thought, occasionally brushing a hand across Drumknott's arm or chest.

When the papers appeared, Drumknott eyed them reluctantly. He was glad to finally have something to do, but the idea of getting up displeased him.

"I should sort through those."

Silence.

"Which means I need to get up, my lord."

A warm puff of air on his collarbone was his only response.

"And my arm is asleep."

Vetinari sighed and rolled off of him. "I suppose you may get up."

Drumknott stood and grabbed the file before sitting back down. They settled into something resembling their usual working routine, Vetinari sitting with his back against a wall, Drumknott leaning against him.

During a lull between file deliveries, Drumknott frowned as a thought struck him. "My lord?"

"Yes?"

"I was under the impression that you don't like to be touched."

"In most cases, that is correct," he answered.

Drumknott waited expectantly.

"Most people are not nearly so fastidious as yourself," he said by way of explanation. "I find the byproducts of human physicality quite distasteful. I also don't trust most people." He met Drumknott's gaze for a moment, enough to let him grasp the significance of that statement, then smiled dryly. "And because when most people try to touch me, it's an attempt to harm or manipulate me, and I can't be having with that sort of thing."

 

It was another three hours until the wizards succeeded in creating a portal stable enough to bring the Patrician and his secretary back to Ankh-Morpork. At the sight of their tyrant exiting the gates of the Unseen University, the mob that had started to form dissipated sheepishly. The Watchmen went back to their usual patrols, order in the Palace was restored, and life went on much the same as before. Except, perhaps, for the Patrician and his secretary, for whom life was just a bit warmer.


End file.
